


Lemon Cake and Constellations

by themuse123



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: "Five Times" trope, Angst, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Slow build to sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 14:03:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22976695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themuse123/pseuds/themuse123
Summary: Five times Rick and Michonne dismissed the tension (and one time they didn't).
Relationships: Rick Grimes/Michonne
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Lemon Cake and Constellations

**A/N: Just a little indulgent fic- because our power couple deserves a break from all the heavy shit. Warning for: shameless fluff, silly Richonne and (eventual) smut. I'll try to have the next chapter up soon. Hope you enjoy!  
**

1\. Homecoming

She couldn't say she welcomed it, the little sunburst in her stomach as his silhouette came into view. She recognized him, even before the moonlight could touch his face, by his assured gait. Everything about Rick was distractingly significant.

He raised a hand and waved. Michonne responded in kind as she pulled her horse, Ginger, to a stop and dismounted.

"You're back." His voice was sunshine and sweet tea. The smile in it had her smiling back.

"Hey, there, mountain man."

He rubbed a hand over his beard. "You don't like it? Carol said it made me look more mature. I know, it's a bit of a backhanded compliment, but I'm letting it go to my head all the same."

Michonne snorted. "You look feral."

"Thank you."

Laughing, they fell into step together, Michonne leading Ginger by the reins. She was not unaware of how it felt, walking at Rick's side- somehow comforting and terrifying at once. Her mind was quick to justify it. She _had_ been gone for nearly a month. These solitary hunting trips she'd been taking made it easier to crawl back into that head space she'd lived in last year.

A part of her hated these trips. Shadows and trees and the ashes of tiny campfires. The desperate quiet of a lonesome world. Sometimes she closed her eyes and expected to see Andrea when she opened them. Sometimes, dozing off, she thought she heard Mike and Terry clinking their chains. The ghosts came alive the longer she spent away from the prison. Some nights it was frighteningly easy to believe them when they insisted that nothing had changed at all.

Of course, where before she'd been directionless, now she had her quarry. Quarry whose trail had gone cold a few miles south of Woodbury. Quarry that even their best tracker had given up on.

"Ain't nothin' more we can do," Daryl had told her. "He's just gone."

Possibly he was right. But that didn't stop her from seeing the Governor in every shadow she passed, from remembering every honeyed lie he'd filled Andrea with. It didn't stop her from turning again and again to that recycled rage, the part of her that held onto things so tight she left claw marks in them. Of course, she wasn't returning home empty-handed- the pack on her saddle was brimming with all she'd scavenged- but fuck if it didn't feel like it anyway.

Yes, a part of her hated these trips. But the rest of her was a summer storm. Sometimes she worried four walls would never contain her.

Sometimes she wondered if she should even return home at all.

"Hey." Rick elbowed her. "I think I should prepare you for everything that's changed since you've been gone."

Michonne raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"

"Oh, really. The prison got a face-lift. It's a shopping mall now." His solemn tone nearly made her laugh. "We're all fat cats, living on commercialism. I turned my cell into a Dippin' Dots."

"And what about my cell?"

"It's a Crocs store."

"Screw you."

Rick grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and she was grateful. Wherever her thoughts might have led her, he had steered her safe.

"So you're out pretty late," she remarked.

"Yeah. Couldn't sleep."

The ghosts in him were restless again. It was easy enough to tell. Her own were quieter now but they still hovered like vultures.

"Thought I'd check the trap lines," he continued. "Make myself useful."

Michonne shook her head. _Make myself useful_. As if he spent his spare time painting his nails instead of busting his ass.

"You want to talk about it?" she asked quietly. She didn't have to elaborate for him to know what she meant. It had taken a bit of coaxing on both ends, but these days it was easier discussing their nightmares. He was the first one, the _only_ one, she confessed them to. Not even Andrea had been privy to that information.

He shrugged. "It's the same one. Down in the boiler room. Phone's ringing and I can't find it. Same shit."

"No walkers this time?" Michonne said, but she didn't really mean walkers. He still couldn't bear hearing Lori's name in casual conversation.

"No," he said. The strain in his voice knotted her chest, but it only lasted a moment. When he glanced at her, his mouth was quirked in what she thought was supposed to be a smile. "No Freddy Krueger, either, so I'm calling that a win. He's a spooky dude."

She coughed a laugh, not entirely surprised. Sometimes he recited his nightmares like he was checking off a list. Sometimes he skimmed the details in favor of something less personal. Tonight it was the latter.

"You really do need a good night's sleep," she said.

"I honestly can't remember what that's like."

"Can you remember a time when you _weren't_ a complete dork? Because that's you right now."

"This coming from the woman who sleeps in a Catwoman t-shirt?"

"Hey, my look is fantastic. You know you love it."

As soon as the words left her mouth, she wanted to suck them back in. He'd seen her in her usual nightly attire, of course, one night during a prison breach that turned out to be a false alarm. There hadn't had time to slip on pants and so Rick had gotten an eyeful of her, poised with her sword in nothing but her shirt and panties.

He hadn't said anything and neither had she. It was only after she'd returned to bed that she felt the flash burn of nerves, which she'd quickly written off as embarrassment and nothing more.

That same feeling returned now like a lightning strike. Rick glanced at her, the slightest arch to his brows. Heat swallowed her cheeks. She frowned straight ahead, casting about for something else to say. The silence was brief, but it climbed her spine and made itself a home there. The tension was so thick she thought even Ginger might be sweating.

They came in view of the prison a moment later. Flashlights cut across their faces, and the gate squealed open once the sentries confirmed their identities. Rick and Michonne hurried inside though there really was no need- the night was quiet, the closest walkers lurking halfway around the perimeter.

"It's gonna make Carl's day tomorrow, having you back," Rick said, keeping pace as she led her horse to the hitching post.

In spite of herself, Michonne smiled. "That little punk better be ready to duke it out. He still hasn't apologized for trying to tell me _Swamp Thing_ was superior to _Judge Dredd_. Hmph. My ass..."

Rick laughed. "I'm always telling him, 'Son, you _never_ piss off a woman with a katana.' The boy never listens to me."

Michonne held out a bucket of water for Ginger to drink from. "Hell hath no fury like a swordstress scorned."

"No, it doesn't." There was a pause, and then: "How long are you staying this time?"

Her spine stiffened. She breathed, slow and deep, before saying, "Not long. Just wanted to bring some supplies back."

"You know, the rest of us would be more than happy to have you home permanently."

She took a moment to admire the timbre of his voice, the way it gentled on the word "home". Then she glanced over her shoulder, carefully composed.

"I know. I just need to cross a few more sectors off my map."

It was a lie, but she wasn't sure what the truth was anymore. All she knew with any certainty was the conflicting squall inside of her, the desire to stay and the fear of that desire.

Rick nodded, wisely deciding not to push the issue. "Well, just try and cross them off as quick as you can. For some reason, we really like having you around."

She busied herself with setting down the bucket and unsaddling Ginger to hide the way his teasing warmed her. "Still haven't figured out what that something is, huh?"

"I'll let you know when I close in on it."

"Looking forward to it."

He shouldered her supply pack and turned to leave, and her gaze followed him of its own free will. She called his name before she could stop herself.

When his eyes fell on her, she felt simultaneously cornered and free.

"I do like it," she said. "The beard."

His answering grin was smug. "I'm definitely letting _that_ go to my head. And, you know for what it's worth... I like the Catwoman t-shirt."

The warmth in her veins became a full-blown wildfire, but Rick just waved goodnight and ambled away. The trials of her solitary month faded to the background.

She was glad to be home.


End file.
